


{you were here | winter is gone}

by summerxblessings



Category: Day6 (Band), K-pop
Genre: Angst, F/M, Moving On, Romance, Slice of Life, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-10-12 15:32:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17470220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerxblessings/pseuds/summerxblessings
Summary: Once again, he breathlessly sat down on the bench and placed the bouquet of dahlias and baby’s breath on the spot beside him, where she used to sit.His lips quivered.A commitment, a bond—that lasts forever. Everlasting love.“Haneul,” his brain on autopilot said. “I miss you.”Silence greeted him in response.





	1. {i}

**Author's Note:**

> {Based loosely off DAY6's Goodbye Winter, one of their lesser known songs.}
> 
> Q: How long is this story?
> 
> A: Not long at all; I am splitting this into different parts because of the stylistic approach I took with writing this story. You'll know why when I finish updating. I will update every other day until this is complete; this is just so that I have time for editing and last-minute additions.
> 
> Q: Why is this story called "{you were here | winter is gone}" if it's based loosely off "Goodbye Winter"?  
> A: From my knowledge of Korean, it is a direct translation from the lyrics. Even though the official English title is "Goodbye Winter" the last two lines of the chorus directly translate to "You were here/Winter is gone".  
> Q: What does the name Haneul mean?  
> A: It translates directly to "sky" in Korean.
> 
> I have already posted this on AFF and currently putting it up on Wattpad. Please consider supporting me on either site. My profile links are on my profile.

**_I._ **

Park Sungjin had always believed that he would greet spring (with the short, brilliant burst of cherry blossoms, wildlife teeming with energy after their lazy hum in the winter, and the rain carrying new beginnings and washing away the endings) for the rest of his life with her. But most importantly to him, the start of spring had been when she had been given to the world and perhaps there was a reason for that—she had been like spring after a long winter to everyone whose life she had touched in her lifetime.

Yet he couldn’t fathom how he was standing alone by the bench in the park near her apartment they always visited on March twentieth every single year, this time, without her. Again.

It was not the first time.

He visited every March twentieth since she had left, wondering how this could be reality. Like every other time, he cradled a bouquet of dahlia flowers with baby’s breath in his arms as if they were his lifeline.

The florist that he always went to, as always, had given him a sad smile. She did not say a single word and arranged his usual request in silence. When he left the shop, she had a knowing look on her face—she would not see him again until the next year, on March twentieth.

Nothing has changed much, in the past few years.

Once again, he breathlessly sat down on the bench and placed the bouquet of dahlias and baby’s breath on the spot beside him, where she used to sit.

His lips quivered.

_A commitment, a bond—that lasts forever. Everlasting love._

“Haneul,” his brain on autopilot said. “I miss you.”

Silence greeted him in response.

And like every other time, he could not control the tears that he slowly began to shed. It started as a silent event as usual, which led to an uncomfortable _crescendo_ , and then to a _forte_ , where he could not control the sobs that wracked his body.

He cried until he could cry no more.

And like every other time, he once again found himself unable to leave the hurt behind.


	2. {ii}

**_II._ **

Ahn Haneul was born into a middle class family at the start of the 1992 spring and she was pronounced a healthy baby.

And she was then lost at the start of the 2012 fall, life only a mere inch longer than two decades and she was pronounced dead at the scene.

Her parents tell him in an animated manner, only now, after they have come to terms with her passing, that they vividly remembered the cherry blossoms blossoming later than usual in 1992, coinciding with the week she was born.

Perhaps that was all she had meant to be—like the cherry blossoms—a passing existence so brilliant that only lasted for a moment in time. That didn’t make him think it was fair, nor did it give him any comfort in knowing that she now laid in peace.

Sungjin could only muse that she had been named aptly, for she had been the spring and sky to her parents. She was their miracle baby; the baby that had somehow existed. They had never expected a child, for they had tried and tried for so many years and had given up hope on ever having children of their own.

Perhaps she had always been living on borrowed time from the Heavens.

He visited her parents after her passing, always and only on the anniversary of her death, for it hurt too much to see what could have been. She would be turning twenty-seven in the coming year. Perhaps they would be married by now. Perhaps they would have went about their separate ways and he chokes to think about this—but at the very least she would still be here.

But she was gone with the migrating birds of the fall that sometimes never came back home.

Her parents always had a rather melancholic look on their face whenever they talked about her.

There were no more tears anymore.

They had come to terms with it, somehow, through the pain of losing their one and only. They had forgiven the teenager, who had been a blubbering and crying mess in court when he received his sentence for reckless operation of a motorcycle that caused death.

(And Sungjin had not, for either).

They’d also made it a tradition every year since her passing to bring out her childhood photos to show him and tell him about her embarrassing stories as a child. His soft smile would always grace his face, an anomaly these days, to his bleak life.

And as always, when they sent him off for another year without their Haneul, Mrs. Ahn would clasp her hand over his, while using her other hand to cradle the one hand she held onto, “She would have wanted you to move on, Sungjin. She would have never wanted this for you.” She gestured at his lifeless self with a slight incline of her head, unsure of how to describe how he looked to her—so lifeless and unlike the Sungjin she knew when her daughter was still around, “Please live for yourself.”

And as usual, he could only smile a half-hearted smile that never quite reached his eyes, “I know.”

Yet he still couldn’t let go.


	3. {iii}: one.

**_III: i._ **

If Sungjin could name the last memory he had with her, he doesn’t suppose he really could because she had embedded her presence in his life so vividly. There had never been a day he spent without some form of her presence; quick messages, calls that lasted throughout the entire night some nights one of them couldn’t sleep, and some of her belongings scattered around his apartment.

There were no more quick messages, or calls where they pondered about the universe and talked about their future together. He had taken all her belongings that were scattered around his apartment, any pictures they had together, and tucked them away into a box in his closet, because it hurt too much to even see them.

She haunted his every dream that he had occasionally, her sad eyes glimmering with tears. They never spoke, but he didn’t care, for it was another chance to see her and be beside her, even though it was just a dream.

Her face was beginning to blur in his dreams—he’d never had the heart to look at any pictures of her twenty-year old self ever since. He hated to admit it, but sometimes the memories that he vividly thought he remembered began to become obscured. It was only a matter of time before they slipped away into nothingness, following the other person who were in those memories.

Sometimes, he would be listening to music and her favourite song would come on, or he would be strumming the strings on his guitar to the tempo of rain pitter-pattering on the window pane of his bedroom, and those moments would be when he felt overwhelmed with memories of her. He would think of how she would be humming along to the tune that played and then his mind would drift off to their memories together with only the company of himself and music.

Those were the moments where dark thoughts entered him, wanting to poison him and take him with them. That was not what she would have wanted, and he always stopped those dark thoughts.

He always immediately changed the song or stopped strumming the guitar.

Sungjin glanced over at the calendar that sat unmarked for the most part, save for a large circle on March thirty-first.

Her _murderer_ , the teenager seven years ago, who had been charged under youth laws (and had gotten off leniently, perhaps with the help of his parents’ money), was going to be released in a few months. The news report that had been released recently had said that he was going to serve in the military afterwards, before heading to university. He was an unproblematic prisoner and he had also applied to go on community service excursions during his time in prison.

Sungjin had never visited that person, for he was still bitter and wasn’t sure if his bitterness would do much good. Haneul was long gone now.

His time had gone forward and hers had not; and it left a bitter taste in Sungjin’s mouth.

He felt his heart constrict in his chest, his world beginning to spin, and forcing himself to breathe at a comfortable pace before he got too light-headed.

Haneul never finished university.

He detested change. He didn’t like how he got older without her. Sungjin had graduated alone, albeit two years after the time he had planned to finish his degree _with her_.

Sungjin clenched his fists, drawing blood on his palms from his fingernails digging into the skin.

Life was very much unfair.

But he didn’t deny that the teenager, that blubbering mess of a person almost six years ago in court, was probably regretting every living moment he had.

It was enough for Sungjin to know that the person that had caused this all was also hurting like himself too.


	4. {iii}: two.

**_III: ii._ **

Sometimes Sungjin wondered what were Haneul’s last thoughts. She’d never lived life too recklessly, always was super cautious, and cherished every moment of her life. She didn’t like driving because she hadn’t been really good at it—she was always a nervous wreck and it showed with how shaky she was behind the wheel. She’d always been nervous; too much responsibility, was what she had explained it as—she’d gotten into a car accident the year before and it had left her antsy behind the wheel ever since.

She made sure the weather was nice that night and that she took the small roads, so that there would be less of a chance of getting into an accident. She had been meticulous, making sure that the gas tank was full and that she knew the exact route she was going to take there and back home.

It didn’t do much, in the end.

Sungjin couldn’t recall much of the exact dialogue they’d had anymore, but he had always been profoundly touched by how much she loved her parents: _“Honestly, I think about my parents before I do anything. I want them to be happy and not worry too much about me.”_ She’d given him a wry smile then, _“I was their miracle after all.”_

She’d been the miracle to many people’s lives, Sungjin learned, at her funeral. Her slightly smiling portrait had looked on with open eyes, while she laid in the casket, eyes closed and peaceful.

He had been one of the chief mourners and received guests at her funeral when her parents were no longer able to stand at the doorway—they needed some fresh air.

He met Jang Hayeon, her middle school seatmate, who had been in tears, “She doesn’t deserve this. It shouldn’t have been her. She’s the last one to ever…” she choked on her tears then, gasping for air. Sungjin had tried comforting her, although he was barely holding on himself. Hayeon hadn’t wanted his comfort, flinching away when he tried to pat her on the back, while barely holding on to his own tears. Her eyes had glazed over then, “I don’t think I would be here if it weren’t for her.”

Sungjin immediately understood when her shirt sleeve slipped slightly down her wrists as she uncomfortably shifted on the spot, finally wiping away her last tears.

He met Ms. Kang Hayoon, an old lady whom he never knew she visited regularly. “She was such a good girl,” the older lady had sighed, while wiping away her tears with the back of her hands. They’d met when Haneul was younger and volunteered at a local retirement home. They’d formed a connection and Haneul visited often ever since. Ms. Kang Hayoon had given him a very sad smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes, “She did talk about you a lot, dear. You’re Sungjin, aren’t you?” She didn’t wait for a response, “Her smile lights up the room—oh dear, _lit_ up the room whenever she spoke of you.”

Sungjin had no response to that.

Then he met Min Taeho, a classmate from high school who had to stay behind a year and graduated the same year she did. “She helped me a lot; more so than she needed to. The teacher had told her to tutor me, but she did it above and beyond what anyone else would have done. It wasn’t even for extra credit or money; she got nothing out of it,” he had said, his eyes rimmed a blood red. It seemed that he had his share of crying and could no longer cry anymore. “She believed in me when no one else did,” was all he could say after that.

He also met Nam Ahri, who didn’t like her much, but came anyway. Haneul used to talk about how much she didn’t like Nam Ahri who was in her accounting classes. Sungjin had scowled a little at her when he saw her approach and she’d crossed her arms, “I know you’re the boyfriend. I didn’t like her, and she did some pretty petty and mean things to me, though I should say it was mutual.” He didn’t know what to say to that. But then she admitted, “But I’d be stupid to say that she was a bad person. I’ve seen her around and I’ve seen how she treats people. We just didn’t get along.” He nodded at that.

He met so many people he had never known that she had known who could only speak about their memories with her. Some didn’t have any memories with her but had come because they had thought that she’d been nice in the few interactions they had with her and wanted to send her off.

And there was himself—they hadn’t dated for long when she had been unfairly taken, but he was sure that she had been the one he would grow old with, smooth to wrinkles and night black to pale snow.

He had never met anyone like her, who’d been so giving, yet also so real. She wasn’t perfect, and she’d had her moments where she was hurt, angry, sad, and only human. She may have been a miracle to some people in her life, but not all.

But it didn’t deny that Haneul touched many people’s lives in her twenty years—

A gentle breeze in the spring, scattering cherry blossom petals, yet leaving all other offspring of nature untouched.


	5. {iii}: three.

**_III: iii._ **

Sungjin no longer had friends in his life, _after_.

He never wanted to hang out. He wanted to stay home; just sleep and eat on the weekends (dramas weren’t fun without her anymore); couldn’t go out because they had the same friends and he didn’t doubt that his heart would search for her amidst their friends, hoping she’d appear once again.

When he did hang out with everyone else, he was not fun to be around.

It didn’t help that he’d lost his temper, many times more than what was acceptable, whenever his friends told him that it was time to move on. While everyone slowly slipped out of their melancholy and moved forward with time, he found himself still stuck in the memories he had with her.

“She likes this,” he commented one day when they had gathered at a restaurant. They had served jasmine tea. Everyone at the table had stopped what they were doing, falling silent, shifting a little uncomfortably. He realized his mistake, “She _liked_ this.”

Sometimes he forgot to use the right tense when he spoke out loud because he didn’t have much of a social life outside of their old circle of friends. He didn’t think it was a big deal—he knew that she was gone. His far-too-quiet phone would attest to it.

He just didn’t realize that every single time he spoke at the gatherings, it would be about _her_.

“I have moved on!” he angrily huffed at them, even though they said nothing. They were staring at him, eyes full of pity and sadness. Then they resumed with their festivities.

It had been two years after her passing then.

He slowly began to stop using present tense when he mentioned her, and he stopped mentioning her every single time he spoke. He sometimes did, and others would join in and talk about their memories with her. He couldn’t help but feel like he was trying to leave her behind in their memories.

She deserved better than that.

And as the years passed, he noticed all the changes in his friends, took note of the different happenings in their lives—while he stayed in one place all the same—not really living yet not dead—the standstill between summer and fall.

Change was scary to him.

It had been the reason why his life was like _this_.

He stopped answering their texts after he came to that realization and after some time, they gave up on trying to invite him. Some had visited his apartment, wanting to check up on him but he’d been volatile each time, and had even slammed the door on one of them.

He didn’t feel accomplished—his phone never rang anymore, and his apartment always seemed darker and emptier than it really was whenever he returned home from work.

Numb.


	6. {iv}

**_IV._ **

His manager at work didn’t even blink an eye when Sungjin requested for March twentieth off again that year.

Walking along the usual path he took to greet March twentieth every year, he passed by the familiar buildings and even the café that he used to frequent all the time with her. He was lost in his memories as he walked, taking note of the changes that had happened throughout the year he was gone. It was almost uncomfortable how much had changed, he realized, compared to seven years ago.

The ice cream parlour that used to sit at the corner by the café became a beauty store and the twenty-four-seven arcade had been replaced by a restaurant.

When he arrived at his destination, he was flabbergasted to find that the usual flower shop he frequented to look more rundown than his memories remembered and very much closed.

(He never took that particular path on any other day, for it was far too painful; it had always been her favourite path to walk).

He stood there dumbly, wondering where to go now. Not many stores, to his knowledge, carried dahlias.

“The old lady who used to own this shop has passed away recently, so there’s no one here at the store until further notice for flower arrangements,” a voice cut into his thoughts.

Sungjin turned to look at the young lady who spoke. She was perhaps younger than him, her above-shoulder length hair looked carefully tousled and wavy, and her makeup was applied in a way that accentuated her facial features. She looked very stylish and put-together.

He nodded his head at that, “I see. Thank you.” That was yet another change that made Sungjin more uncomfortable than he would like to admit.

He turned away from her, but he still stood there, wondering where to go next.

He felt his nerves bundle together after many moments standing there, when it hit him that this would probably be the first year since Haneul’s passing that he would not be bringing the same bouquet to their spot on the bench.

_Change._

He took in a shallow breath.

“Do you need any help? You look troubled,” the same lady spoke again, her voice cautious and quiet. Sungjin faced her again, unsure if he really wanted to engage in conversation with a stranger. He didn’t have many people in his life anymore—they were sick of him moping around for someone who was never going to be able to come back. It didn’t help that he had lashed out in anger at everyone.

His behaviour had a reason—her death. But it had no excuse.

He looked down to his feet, then back up again. He needed dahlias for the bouquet. He didn’t like change.

Change was horrible.

That was what led to her death.

She wanted to go to a company event for a change, and he hadn’t been able to go; and he was the one that was sick for a change, instead of her. She went alone.

She decided that night that she was also going to drive for a change—she hadn’t driven for some time because she didn’t really like driving.

Change.

Oh, how he loathed that.

“I need to find dahlias,” he quickly spoke, not wanting her to hear how his voice was pinched and it felt like his airways were closing in on him. It seemed like she noticed anyway, and Sungjin didn’t like that.

The lady nodded her head and she looked contemplative, her gaze making him feel uncomfortable. Many things were making him uncomfortable today.

Finally, when she made up her mind, she took out keys that clinkered together as she fished them out and looked for the exact key she wanted to use. She approached the flower shop’s entrance and inserted the key, turning it easily. She made a small sweeping motion towards Sungjin who was looking confused, a small smile on her face, “Be my guest.”

Quiet, Sungjin followed while the lady explained, “This is my great-aunt’s shop. She never married, you see, and we found out that she left it in my name just a few days ago. Her lawyer came by after the funeral to give me the property deed and the keys.” She paused. “I’ve never been really invested in her business to be honest, and I plan to sell the property,” she admitted, “so I really can’t help you with arranging the flowers that you need.”

“That’s alright,” was all Sungjin could say as he, on auto-pilot, walked over to where the old lady always kept the dahlias in a bucket, right beside the forget-me-nots. As he walked towards it, his heart was weary, seeing from the distance that it was possible that the container was possibly empty.

And his worst fears were confirmed.

His heart almost dropped out of his chest.

The lady had followed him quietly and seeming to understand that perhaps what he needed was not in-stock and never would be anymore, she could only say, “I’m sorry.”

That was what happened when his life had changed, when she had passed away.

That was what everyone had said at the funeral. What everyone said after they found out. What everyone always seemed to want to say whenever they saw him.

She had been laying there so peacefully, oblivious to what was going on around her, her bed made of dahlias and baby’s breath. Oblivious to all the cries in the funeral parlour that wanted her to come back.

Sorry was not going to bring her back.

His breathing became laboured.

The lady approached him slowly, not wanting to overwhelm him, firmly grasping him by the shoulder to make him face her, “Look at me.”

He did, his lips trembling and his eyes watering.

“I want you to count to three.”

He did, although it was hard to remember what came after one, and then after he crossed that hurdle, what came after two.

“And now I want you to breath out to a count of seven.”

He tried, losing focus and took in another harsh breath in when he reached three. He couldn’t stand anymore, too dizzy. He would have crashed onto the floor if it weren’t for her making sure he had a decently soft landing.

“That’s okay,” she said in a soft and encouraging manner. She tentatively reached out to him again, patting him gently on the back as she kneeled beside him. “Let’s try it again.”

He had never known (or wanted to realize) how he had spiralled this far; that it had gotten out of control.

And for the first time in many years, he wasn’t alone.

When the episode had passed, and he sat there on the floor, exhausted, the lady looking at him attentively, he realized that something had changed right there and then.

Fall had always begun but it had never progressed—

It was that day when his time moved forward: to what came after the first day of autumn.


	7. {v}

**_V._ **

He talked with a psychologist, for the first time in his life, at the insistence of the bossy, younger lady who was the great-niece of the woman who owned the flower shop, whose name he learned was Nayoung.

Nayoung decided to insert herself into his life and pretty much demanded that he took care of himself after the debacle in the flower shop. She was a year younger than himself and very outspoken and stubborn, unlike many of his other friends before he isolated himself, who were laidback. He had found a companion and best friend in her.

Another change.

With the psychologist, he talked about his hurt, the memories, and the anger he felt towards the teenager-turned-adult who had caused the accident. He talked about his days _after_ , how he never realized that he had been hurting so much, and how he had pushed everyone away after Haneul’s death.

He healed, difficult as it was, almost two years passing by before his psychologist deemed that he was ready to close the chapter in his life and move on. No further appointments were needed. But there was potential of relapse if something horrible and life-changing happened to him again, Sungjin knew.

He reached out to old acquaintances again after that, who had welcomed him and were glad that he was doing better now. And he was too.

Haneul had been like the sky and spring to everyone in her life. He didn’t want to be the winter in anyone’s life. His life moved forward, like the seasons that didn’t yield to time.

He met someone wonderful who took his breath away and also began to love again, something he never fathomed would happen when Haneul passed on. But it was possible, and it was his now.

He visited Haneul’s parents without hesitation again that year, to greet autumn together. This time, he joined in with their twinkling laughter, speaking of his memories with her and everything he had loved about her.

And as always, when they sent him off for another year of remembering Haneul, Mrs. Ahn clasped her hand over his, while using her other hand to cradle the one hand she held onto. Her eyes were twinkling, “I’m happy for you. We’re happy for you. I’m sure she’s also happy for you.”

Tears stung his eyes, but he did not let them escape. He bowed, promising to visit more during the year.

Before he knew it, March twentieth creeped upon him again.

Much had changed again, as he walked along the path he had memorized like the back of his hand. He was surprised to find that there was construction on the path, which caused him to deviate from the original route he always took since he didn’t like the smell of dust, but it wasn’t too alarming to him, since he had been aware that there had been construction going on on the street. He had walked down the street recently with an old friend.

As he turned the corner, he was greeted with the site of the café shop that he used to frequent with Haneul. It had closed recently, and there had been talk that it was going to be replaced with an ice cream parlour. He had gone the day before the café’s closure, ordering a drink that was much suited to his taste buds now rather than then.

He could not deny that he still thought of his memories with Haneul (that were beginning to fade with each breath he took), but instead of the bitterness, resentment, and sadness that usually accompanied his thoughts, there was only happiness.

She had been in his life and he had been blessed. She was loved by everyone, and she had loved with all her heart.

And that was enough for him.

Coming upon the familiar bench at the park, he was glad to see no one there and sat down on it, placing the flowers onto the spot right beside him.

She used to sit there beside him, smiling gently as she cradled his hand with hers, resting them on the wooden surface of the bench, _“I love you, you know that right?”_

He did not have dahlias or baby’s breath, but cherry blossoms cut from small branches of a cherry tree.

His lips quivered a little.

_The fragility and beauty of life._

It was the last time he was going to come. The park was going to be closed off in a few months’ time, torn down, and rebuilt again. The bench would no longer be there, and with it, _their_ place would be gone.

“Haneul,” his brain on autopilot said. “I miss you.”

Silence greeted him in response.

This time, he did not cry and instead, he smiled softly, caressing the worn wood with his fingers as if he were strumming his guitar.

He sat there for a long time, with the company of the spring breeze that ruffled his hair and sang with the songbirds in the distance, before he decided it was time to go.

And this time, unlike all the other times, he left all the hurt behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! If you don't mind, please leave a comment below to tell me what you thought of it :')
> 
> I wanted to point out a few things I did in my stylistic approach that you may have missed (asked in questions, because why would I want to reveal everything LOL):
> 
> Go back and read the first line of each "chapter". Who was it about? When did it change?  
> Notice how I labeled the "chapters". What do you notice? What does it say about Sungjin? The way he lived his life?  
> Read the first "chapter" and the last "chapter" and notice the similarities and the differences.  
> Note the change in flowers that Sungjin used in the first chapter and the last chapter. I've left the meaning of the flowers in the story itself.  
> And finally, just notice the use of the seasons in this story.
> 
>  
> 
> I had a great time writing this story, so I hope you had a decent time reading. See you around!


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